


Five Times Cassian Was Sick

by AliciaSinCiudad



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: 5 Times, M/M, Yet another sick-day fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliciaSinCiudad/pseuds/AliciaSinCiudad
Summary: What it says on the tin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I work with small children, who are wonderful, and also sociopaths, but wonderful sociopaths. (I love the look they give you when they are doing something they know is very wrong.) They are also mucus factories, and I seem to spend my inevitable sick days writing fanfic. So far I have managed to not write anything about getting a bushel of small children to put snow-pants on, but we'll see. Maybe that's why Anakin went all murderous on the "younglings" in the prequels? Except I guess in his case it would be lava-pants because I seem to remember there being a lot of lava in that movie.
> 
> Thanks to Casrion for reading an earlier draft and giving feedback!

1.

Private Cassian Andor was not the most sociable man in the Rebellion. If he wasn't exactly popular, at least he was dependable. You could always count on him to be strong, to be determined, and to get the job done. Which was why it was better if nobody knew that he was sick.

Once he realized he was going to have trouble keeping food down, he simply stopped trying to eat. He sat whenever possible to conserve strength. He muffled his coughs as best as he could, and timed them so that he only coughed when someone else was talking, when no one would be paying attention to him. He wore layers of clothes that could be easily opened and closed to adjust for chills or fever. He had a few days until his unit would be sent to Quanton, and he could sleep during the journey, so he just needed to keep his illness a secret until then.

Private Andor rarely spoke more than absolutely necessary. Most people probably assumed that his silence was a part of his serious personality, and to an extent, it was. He was also self-conscious about his accent, although he would never have admitted to it, hating the way it marked him as an outsider, when the Rebellion was his life, and had been as long as he could remember. Because he was taciturn by nature, it was unlikely that anyone noticed him speaking even less than usual at briefings, waiting for others to ask the questions that were on his mind, both to conserve energy and to prevent anyone noticing the roughness in his voice. Always diligent, he took even more notes than usual, knowing that his memory was not at its peak.

The physical training that day had pushed Andor to his limit, but that was good for him. Psychological strength was as important as physical strength, and he needed to practice pushing through the aching and fatigue. If his throat felt sore, it was irrelevant, since he wasn’t eating anyway. If he felt a bit more feverish than he had that morning, then it just meant that he would sleep well that night.

Andor woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed. The physical exhaustion must have brought him into a very deep sleep. He walked to the mess hall for breakfast, pleased to notice that he was actually hungry. The rest of his unit was already eating together, minus the commanding officer, Lieutenant O’Reilly, who was sitting at a table with other officers. Andor grabbed a tray of food and found a seat next to Private Yılmaz.

"Andor, where the hell have you been?" she asked.

Private Andor was not the type to apologize unnecessarily. Showing up to breakfast a few minutes late did not constitute necessary apology. "I'm here now," he replied gruffly, and took a bite of bread. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Lieutenant approaching.

"Andor."

"Sir."

"You're off the mission."

Andor bit back his response, keeping his face stoic, but he was furious. Taking him off the mission because he'd come late to breakfast? It was _breakfast_ after all, not training, so what was the big deal?

"I assume you know why," the commander continued.

"Yes sir. I won't be late to breakfast again, sir."

Andor was not expecting the slap, but he kept his face neutral.

"Don't be smart with me, Private. Finish your breakfast and wait in your quarters for further orders."

"Yes sir." Private Andor did not blush. He kept his breathing even. He did not look at anyone else at the table. He ate silently and efficiently.

After Lieutenant O’Reilly had returned to his table, Private Yılmaz whispered to Andor, "What was that all about?" Andor didn't respond. "But really, Andor, where were you yesterday?"

Yesterday? What was she talking about? He'd spent yesterday the same as her – briefings and physical training. Was she messing with him?

"Fine, be brooding and mysterious. What do I care? But if you're going to be so insufferable, at least be a good team-mate and show up to training every day. You can't just take a day off every time you have a slight cough."

Suddenly, Andor realized why he was feeling so much better that morning.

Appetite gone, he brought his tray to the kitchen, dumped the rest of his food in compost, and headed back to his quarters.

 

2.

Lieutenant Andor woke up coughing. He was cold, and he ached all over. But he felt a certain amount of satisfaction as he dragged himself into a seated position and reached for his canteen. The mission was over, the information was collected, and he was safely back on Yavin 4.

He had been feeling under the weather for days, and the physical exertion of traversing Barea’s rocky terrain, coupled with the wind, hail, and sub-freezing temperatures, had not helped. But Andor had successfully staved off any obvious illness until after the mission had been completed.

Andor checked his watch. He had six hours until he was scheduled to meet with Mon Mothma, and he didn’t have anything else scheduled for the day. He could sleep for another four hours at least, have some warm food, and still have time to prepare his presentation to Mothma. If he played things right, he could recover before anyone even noticed he’d been ill. He’d be completely healthy in time to receive another mission within forty-eight hours, seventy-two at the most.

Andor unpacked the heavy coat he’d used on Barea, now completely dry, and lay it on his bed like an extra-thick blanket. He set himself an alarm, and crawled back into bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

 

3.

Captain Andor resented being placed in the sick bay.

“It’s just a cough,” he muttered to anyone who would listen, until he gave up, frustrated by the worried looks he got from the coughing fits that any speaking would inevitably set off.

Andor hated being in the sick bay. He hated being off duty. He hated feeling like he was on display for all the patients and their visitors. He hated being there for something so stupid, when so many patients were there for serious injuries. To his side sat a private who had just had her leg amputated, and Captain Andor was there because of so-called walking pneumonia, which everyone knew was another name for a slightly-worse-than-usual chest-cold.

As a captain, Andor felt that he should be a good example and an inspiration to the other soldiers. If his superiors wouldn’t let him back on active duty, at least he could help the others who were stuck here. He comforted those who needed it, listening to them unburden their troubles. He expressed as much as he could through facial expressions and body language, since talking made him start coughing again. Unfortunately, his actions often attracted the attention of med-droids, who would force him back into his bed, claiming he was not resting up as much as he should. He wanted to shout at them that it was a goddamned cough, but of course, he couldn’t shout.

After a day or so, Andor stopped resisting the med-droids and stayed in bed. He had to admit to himself, the other patients didn’t really need him anyway. They all had their visitors: unit-mates, commanding officers, friends, lovers, and the occasional family member. Andor was glad that the other patients had so many people to keep them occupied, so that they were unlikely to notice that no one ever came to visit him. It could be bad for their morale to see how alone their captain was.

 

4.

"I will handle the flight, Cassian. I suggest that you take advantage of the next two hours to sleep."

"That's not necessary, K. It's better if we're both piloting."

"There is a 99.5% chance of a complication-free flight, and a 72% chance of complications once we are on the ground. I highly suggest that you sleep while you can."

"It's the middle of the day, I don't need to sleep."

"Your reactions are 56.4% slower than usual, and your breathing is 68% more audible."

"What are you going on about?"

"Your core temperature is 3.2% higher than normal, and yet you are shivering."

"You can tell my core temperature from there?"

"I can tell a lot of things, Cassian. For example, I can tell that you are stalling rather than admitting that you are sick."

"I'm fine, K."

"The timber of your voice is off. Your balance is off. Shall I go on?"

"Are you trying to put me to sleep?"

"If that's what it takes."

"Fine, take the controls. But promise you will wake me if anything unexpected happens, alright?"

"Of course. In the negligible probability that I need to, I will wake you." Cassian wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn that K-2SO raised the temperature of the cabin slightly as he was drifting off to sleep.

 

5.

Cassian was not used to waking up to an empty bed. Usually he woke before Bodhi did, and when Bodhi _did_ wake first, he usually stuck around until Cassian woke up, too. But this morning, Bodhi was not in bed, and his pillow was cold. Frankly, so was Cassian.

He sneezed. Shit. He had an important mission coming up, and now was not the time to be coming down with a cold. Maybe if he slept in a bit later, he could stave off any developing illness. Unfortunately, the moment he closed his eyes, he started coughing, and couldn’t stop. So much for going back to sleep. Shivering, he dragged himself into a seated position, trying to catch his breath.

"Cassian, are you alright?" Apparently, Bodhi had entered while Cassian had been coughing. He sat down next to him, put his arm around him, steadying him. "Here, have some water," he said, bringing a cup to Cassian's lips. Cassian took a sip, blushing.

"You don't have to do this," he said, annoyed at how rough his voice sounded. "It's just a – a – _ha-chu!”_ He sniffed. “It’s just a cold."

"Shush. You stay here, and I'll make you some soup."

"I can make myself breakfast, Bodhi. This isn't necessary."

"Actually, it _is_ necessary."

"Why is that?" Cassian croaked, suppressing another cough.

"It’s necessary because I need to stay healthy if I want to take care of you. Which means I can't sleep in your bed – I'd catch your cold. And kissing is obviously out of the question. Therefore, you need to get better more or less immediately, because I can only go so long without kissing you. So wait here, and I'll bring you some soup."

Cassian was used to working through illness, trying to hide it whenever possible. He’d never had to worry about getting other people sick. He supposed he'd have to start being more careful about his health, for Bodhi’s sake.

Although he had to admit that he didn't mind getting breakfast in bed every once in a while.

 

6.

Cassian was still half-asleep when he heard Bodhi sneeze on the other side of the room.

“Bless you.” Bodhi didn’t respond. “Bodhi, are you alright?” Cassian heard Bodhi sigh, which turned into a cough. Cassian began to sit up.

“No, no, don’t get up! _I’m_ taking care of _you_ , remember?” Bodhi’s voice was rough, and he sounded congested.

“I told you yesterday, I don’t need taking care of. But I don’t like the sound of that cough.”

Bodhi groaned. “I knew this would happen.”

“I’m sorry you’re feeling so bad. You stay in bed, I’ll make us breakfast.” Cassian made a motion to get out of bed.

“No, really, Cassian, don’t get up. I’m fine, I’m just annoyed.” Bodhi cleared his throat. “You’re always the one who takes charge, and I thought _I_ was finally going to be able to take care of _you_. I knew the moment I caught your cold, you’d be the one taking care of me again.”

Cassian tried to suppress a shiver. “Well, Bodhi, what’s done is done. But now that you’re already sick, I guess there’s no point in you sleeping all the way over there anymore, is there?”

“I suppose not.” Bodhi slowly began to sit up. Cassian guessed by his movement that Bodhi ached as much as he did.

“And if you really want to take care of me, what I could really use is some company. And maybe help to warm up. What do you say?”

Bodhi sniffed, but his face visibly brightened. “Damn, Cassian. Maybe I should have caught your cold sooner.”


End file.
